Short Story: Bespoke

Short Story: Bespoke

Just inside the doors of Hell there is a shop. There is no sign above the store-front but the unmistakable feel of a gentleman's tailor radiates from every brick and window pane.

There is a creature in front of the shop, a deformed and hard-skinned thing, like a reptile burnt hard in its own skin. A blackened and clawed demon, smoke rising in an unbreathable, noxious cloud around it's yellow fangs and red eyes.

With a look down the road to the flames and place of screams, the demon opens the shop door and its clawed toes scrape over the step.

The shop keeper is a young, well-dressed woman, neat and apparently human. She wears a name tag on her jacket that declares her name to be Melanie and insists she is here to help.

Her customer breathes heat and flames but there are no articles of clothing to combust in this store. What is sold here is a different kind of covering.

The demon steps up to the shop keeper and sniffs her, detecting no humanity. She smiles politely and tells him she is merely projecting an image, helping her customers get into the right frame of mind before they go through the gates to live among the living.

“Does sir have any particular look in mind?” she asks, gesturing to the shelves arranged with bits and pieces of life, ready to be fitted together to fit any demon frame. Bespoke tailoring for the discerning agent of evil.

The demon prowls along the aisles, sniffing and greedily fondling the flesh and characters for sale, as the shop keeper offers advice and praises the customer's good taste.

He chooses a male body of above average height, well muscled, and a strong face, devilishly handsome. Wavy blond hair and eyes of blue that gleam with mischief. A deep voice and a rumbling laugh that could be felt in the listeners stomach. An arrogance that intrigued instead of grated and charm by the gallon. They put together a man of supreme sexual power and the shop keeper works out the exorbitant price in her mind and her long tongue laps eagerly at her crimson lips.

The demon dons his costume and turns for inspection, pleased at the lustful look from the shop keeper as she holds her hand out for payment. Into her slender hand he drops a writhing ball of pulsating red and purple flame, an orb of pure soul pain, tortured from thousands and delicious to taste. A large payment indeed.

With a grateful nod the shop keeper watches the demon leave in its new skin, breaking it in comfortably in seconds as only the finest made-to-measure attire could be broken in.

“Have a nice day, sir”, the shop keeper says in her silken tones.

Outside the demon looks towards the gates and tries out his new swagger as he leaves the fires of home for a holiday in the human world. Wonderful leisure pursuits, gourmet food and a break from the toil of inflicting eternal torture.

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